Underdog
by blinks
Summary: After growing up in the suburbs of South Park, the boys have become an elite group of criminals, the Underworld's finest. Soon, the President gets a hold of them; forcing them to fly out to Russia, to try and assassinate a group of Freedom Fighters. Although the boys believe they have successfully eliminated the resistance, the events that follow weren't as easy as they have be.


**Prologue:**

The frozen wasteland was spotted with an array of houses, shops and bus stops. One of the many bus stops were scattered with children, all shapes sizes and genders. All huddled in tight circles, chatting with animated voices and actions. Gloved fingers thumping away at small keyboards as they talked to friends that were not present.

The trees talked to each other with hushed tongues. Letting the winds whisk up their secrets and turn them into a slurred hiss. Their bare branches rattled and the snow that laid upon them stirred. Sometimes one of the children would go up to the low branches and shake them with so much vigour that the snow would fall in giant clumps. Twinkling from the frozen sunlight as it plummets.

Everything in the winter village was alive. From the twitter of birds from the never ending snow that fluttered from the heavens.

A particular group of boys stand by a rundown bus stop. The snow has covered half the sign and there is no shelter to huddle under. They're talking about their summer plans. Believe it or not, it is June. Soon the school year will have ended and buses will run slow, children will wake up later. No more showering at seven in the morning. Slapping make up on before you rush out the door.

The smallest of all them speak up, he is also the plumpest. His voice is husky and his friends refer to him as Cartman. He tells them about his mother being away for the majority of the summer break. His friends look ecstatic. The sixteen/seventeen year olds soon break into a heated debate about parties, almost ignoring the bus driver as she pulls up.

A heavy scent of BO and Mediterranean vegetables dribbled out of the old yellow vehicle. If you have never smelt steamed Mediterranean vegetables then you're the lucky one. If you have and you are remembering the horrific stench that it brings, I apologise. Imagine sitting in the horrific odour for a good twenty minutes, gagging and spluttering, as the scent seeds into your clothing and stains you.

Luckily, two quarters, or a half of the boys were equipped, banging out Ace and coating themselves in a thick layer of it.

This had become a routine for the plump kid and the one who spent too much time on his hair. The act had followed them into adulthood. And after five years of spraying canned cologne in heavy doses onto their skin must have created a small tare in the O-Zone layer. People like these two were the reason Global Warming existed.

The plump kid wasn't as plump anymore, although the guy who spend too much time on his hair hadn't changed. Checking his dark brown locks every time his eyes locked onto a mirror.

Two other kids had companied them on their path, one with violent red curls, severely religious and by far the smartest of all four. The other one who had been nicknamed the Pied Piper at Secondary school as rats were never that far from him. It was probably from the cheesy out-of-wrapper condoms he carried with him. Living without broadband and Wifi he was subjected to taking them out the packet when he became bored. Which didn't help in the long run as they normally became unravelled or got ink over them.

The mischief the four boys found themselves in had only increased over the years. When they hit nineteen they got into their first real run-in. Although, only a coincidence – the boys took a deep thrill out of what had happened, it was nothing more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But there was something in the atmosphere, the sweaty bodies that clung to them in an outraged and drunk attempt to 'get some'. The bloodied skin against their fists, tight with rage and anger. The drunken cries of the idiots that grabbed and groped at the boys.

The cops arrived soon after the outbreak started. The battered drunks hauled away. The cops gave them a warning, leaving them with nothing but the blood pounding around their brains. The thrill was something they couldn't describe, something that made even their fingertips tingle with excitement.

Soon they were seeking it, wanting it. Searching for trouble and exploiting it. Letting the adrenaline rush over their bodies in a heated mess. They savoured every moment of it.

They were known as many things. No-Name, Spineless and, most famously they carried the name of Underdogs. People wanting to 'deal' with others would trail them down, paying good money to have their _problem_ taken care of.

These boys were nothing more than faces, numbers at the most. 01, 02, 03, 04. They were mysteries. Legends and Myths combined into a sad real truth.

But this is where our story begins: The link between Myths, Legends and Underdogs.

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><p><strong>Authors Note: This is just a prologue, the rest of the story will not be written in this way. I hope it's understandable. Also; if you think I could improve the summary I'd love to hear your ideas; I'll take as many into account as possible. <strong>

**Plump Kid – Eric Cartman**

**The One Who Spent Too Much Time on His Hair – Stan Marsh.**

**Violent Red Curls – Kyle Broflovski.**

**Pied Piper – Kenny McCormick. **

**I want to post this to see what you guys think: unfortunately, I'm currently biting of more than I can chew. Therefore I will not be updating this for months and then _BOOM!_ chapter after chapter will appear. Please still follow/favourite. Also review and tell me what you think; did it make sense, if not tell me which part and I will improve it.**

**Thank you.**


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